


Cautionary Cry

by umbralillium



Series: Raising Stiles [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbralillium/pseuds/umbralillium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I'm sorry.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cautionary Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Illuminated, however Danny's blacklight party never happened, or at least didn't happen at Derek's loft. This story is set in an alternate season 3. The Alpha pack never came to town, but Jennifer and the Nemeton still happened. Obviously Kira still comes and the events in the episodes of 3B before Illuminated still happen.

It's quiet when Dean gets home. It's nearing midnight, so hopefully Stiles is asleep. It'd be a blessing if Stiles _is_ asleep, actually, since he hasn't slept more than a couple hours a night in weeks. With a quiet sigh, Dean hangs his coat up in the hall closet and heads into his office to lock his gun in the gun safe. There's an envelope on his desk and he frowns as he puts his gun away. Once it's secure, he goes over and picks it up. 'Dad' is scrawled across the front in Stiles's familiar writing and he opens it. There's a single, folded, sheet of paper in it and his hands start to shake as he unfolds the paper. The two words on the paper make his heart start to pound. He hears someone start saying, "No," and it doesn't register that it's him until he's stared at the paper for a long minute, his mind refusing to contemplate what they could mean.

> I'm sorry.

The paper and envelope flutter to the floor as he drops them to race upstairs to Stiles's room. The door is standing open and the room is empty. His eyes dart frantically around the room, searching for a clue. The bottle of sleeping pills Stiles doesn't like to take is on his bed, lid off, pale pills spilling across his dark sheets. He scrubs a hand over his forehead roughly, trying to _think_ , and turns to head back out into the hall. His eyes trail over the walls absently until he realizes the bathroom light is on. He darts into the room and his heart stops in his chest.

Stiles is in the filled tub, fully clothed, fully submerged, his eyes closed. "No. No no no no," Dean says as he grabs Stiles, hauling him out of the tub onto the bathmat. Panic grips him as he checks for breath and finds none. He puts his ear to Stiles's chest and doesn't hear anything. "Don't you do this to me, Stiles," he begs as he starts CPR. "I've already lost your mom, I can't lose you, too. I don't know why you did this, but we'll figure it out. You'll get better. Just don't, don't leave me. Don't die. Please. I didn't mean it when I said I didn't believe anything you said. God, come back to me. Come _back_."

Stiles lurches into a cough and Dean quickly turns him onto his side so the water he'd swallowed could come out. Once he stops, Dean lays him back down onto his back, but Stiles's eyes remain closed. "Stiles?" he says, voice cracking. He presses his palm against Stiles's chest and he can barely feel his heart beating against his palm. Pulling out his phone, he quickly dials 911. "This is Sheriff Stilinski, I need an ambulance at my house. Quickly! My son tried to commit suicide. I resuscitated him, but he's not waking up. Hurry!"

*

Dean stares at his hand holding Stiles's on the hospital bed. If he never sat at the bedside of someone he loves again, he'd die a happy man. He doesn't look up when Sam walks in and sets a hand on his shoulder. "How is he?" Sam asks quietly.

"He'll live," Dean answers. He's silent for a few seconds then asks, "Why would he do this, Sam? Things between us were getting better, school was going fine. The only thing going wrong is this impeachment bullshit McCall's trying to pull."

Sam crouches down next to Dean's chair. "I might have an answer for that."

Dean looks up at him sharply. "What?"

Sam holds out a familiar envelope.

"I already read that," Dean says, not taking it.

"Not this one. This one was in the locked drawer of your desk at the house," Sam replies.

"Have you read it?"

"Yeah," Sam answers. "You need to see it."

With a shaking hand, Dean takes the envelope and draws out the paper inside.

> Dear Dad,
> 
> I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, but I don't know what else to do. The key I asked you about is the key to the chemistry supply room. I don't know how it got there; I don't know where it came from. I wrote the code that told Barrows to kill Kira. I don't remember any of it. I don't know what's happening to me and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't make sure nothing else happens to innocent people. I'm scared, Dad. The darkness inside of me from finding the Nemeton is spreading and it's making me do things that I would never do. I'd rather be dead than hurt anyone else or make you lose your job again. If McCall finds out I'm the one controlling Barrows, he'll have grounds to impeach you and I can't let that happen. I'm sorry.
> 
> Take care of him, Uncle Sam. I want you to make sure he doesn't do anything drastic.
> 
> I love you,
> 
> Stiles

A tear trails down Dean's cheek and he lowers his head. "God, he's so much like her. Always taking care of us."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, voice rough.

*

Dean had somehow managed to fall asleep in the chair next to Stiles’s bed and is woken up some time in the night by the tightening of Stiles’s hand around his. He jerks awake to see Stiles staring at him hazily. “Hey, kiddo,” Dean greets quietly, sitting forward in his chair.

“Dad?” Stiles croaks, frowning.

Dean picks up the cup of water from the rolling table and holds it out. “How’re you feeling?”

Stiles takes the cup and drinks some water. He starts to say something then shakes his head and answers, “Pretty crappy.”

“I bet,” Dean replies, squeezing Stiles’s hand gently. “Don’t you do that to me again, Stiles. If there’s something wrong, you come and talk to me. I don’t care if you remember what happened, I don’t care if you _don’t_ remember what happened. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me something’s wrong. Okay?”

Stiles stares down at his hands picking at the blanket. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Dean says quietly, shifting to catch Stiles’s gaze. “Okay?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah,” he answers, voice cracking.

“Okay. Don’t worry about McCall, let me deal with him,” Dean assures him. “You just worry about getting better.” A silent nod answers him and he sits back in his chair. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Love you, Dad,” Stiles whispers.

“Love you, too, Stiles.”

*

Dean only leaves Stiles’s room for five minutes; long enough to step outside and call Sam with an update on Stiles’s condition. When he gets back to the room, McCall is standing over Stiles’s bed, a sneer on his smug-ass face. Stiles glares up at him, arms crossed over his chest, but Dean can see his hand trembling behind his arm.

“What do you have to be sorry about, huh, Stiles?” McCall’s asking as Dean comes into the room. “You sorry you’re gonna get your dad impeached? Must’ve done something pretty big to be sorry enough to take a handful of sleeping pills and try to drown yourself. What’d you do that you tried to kill yourself?”

“Out!” Dean demands, advancing on McCall with long strides.

“Just asking some questions,” McCall defends even as he’s backing away from Stiles’s bed.

“You can ask when he’s recovered,” Dean growls. He knows he should back off, cool down before he says something he’s going to regret later.

McCall scoffs, backing towards the door. “ _If_ he recovers,” he mutters.

“What did you just say?” Dean snarls, advancing on McCall.

“Come on, Stilinski, everyone knows what happened to Claudia,” McCall replies. “We’re all just waiting for—.”

Dean doesn’t even realize he’s moved until McCall’s against the wall, Dean’s hands fisted in his jacket, lips lifted in a snarl. “You don’t know jackshit about my son, McCall. You keep your fucking mouth shut, you hear me?”

“Or what?” McCall taunts. “You’ll arrest me?”

“Dad!” Stiles calls from across the room.

“Bigshot agent,” Dean sneers. “You think you know everything.”

“Dad!” Stiles calls again.

“You don’t know _anything_. You don’t know your own _son_ , because you couldn’t cut it. At least my son trusts me.”

“Oh really?” McCall replies, smirking. “Then why is he in that hospital bed? Why did he try to kill himself the same way she did?”

Dean hauls a fist back, rage flooding him. He swings.

“Daddy!”

“Dean!”

The twin cries stop his fist a bare inch from McCall’s nose. He’s almost proud to see fear in McCall’s eyes. “Get out. If I see you near my son again, I’ll file a restraining order on you. What do you think your bosses will do when they find out you’ve been harassing a kid?”

McCall’s lip lifts in a sneer, but he backs away when Dean lets him go. He’s so busy watching Dean, he almost runs into Sam and Melissa in the doorway. “Watch it,” Sam growls, making McCall jump. McCall turns and barely contains a flinch at the glares being aimed at him. Melissa and Sam move out of his way, watching him as he walks out. Sam casts a look at Dean before turning and following him.

“Everything okay?” Melissa asks, looking from Dean to Stiles. Worry floods her face and Dean turns to see Stiles pale and shaking on the bed, panting for breath.

Dean darts over to the bed, Melissa right beside him, and reaches out for Stiles but not touching him. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe with me, Stiles,” Dean instructs, breathing deeply and audibly. Stiles grabs for his hand, gripping tight. Dean holds back just as tight, watching closely as Stiles’s breathing slows and he settles back against the pillows. His breathing is still fast, but his grip is easing on Dean’s hand. A cough rattles out of his chest, suddenly, wet and harsh.

Melissa nudges Dean out of the way and reaches out to press her palm to Stiles’s forehead. Dean’s heart twists at the look on Stiles’s face, familiar from sick days long past. Frowning, she pulls her stethoscope from her neck and settles it into place with the cup against Stiles’s chest. She winces sympathetically after listening for a few moments. “Looks like you’ve got pneumonia, Stiles. You’re going to be stuck here a little longer than originally planned.”

“How long?” Stiles asks, voice hoarse.

Melissa shrugs and shakes her head. “It’ll depend on how long it takes the pneumonia to run its course.” She gives him a shrewd look. “And how much you let yourself rest.”

Stiles’s smile is a little sheepish. A knock on the door makes them all turn to see Sam standing in the doorway, the pack clustered behind him, peering in anxiously. “Found some whippersnappers in the hall,” Sam jokes, smiling at Stiles. “Think we should keep ‘em?”

Stiles’s smile widens and he nods. “Yeah, they’re good people.”

“And I suppose reminding you all that this is ICU and only one visitor at a time is allowed isn’t going to deter you all from coming in at the same time,” Melissa comments, resignation in her tone, but a fond smile keeps pulling at her lips.

“Please, Mom?” Scott asks with his best pleading look.

“Oh he’s good,” Dean murmurs to Stiles as Melissa’s shoulders slump and she gestures towards Stiles.

“Just don’t overwhelm him, he needs to rest,” she concedes. “I’ll be back in an hour and everyone but Dean and Sam had better have cleared out by then.”

The pack tumbles into the room to cluster around Stiles’s bed. Scott pauses next to Melissa and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom,” he says quietly.

She just smiles and nudges him towards the bed. “You guys are probably the best thing for him, right now, but don’t get too rowdy and draw attention to yourselves, okay?”

Scott nods. “We’ll be good. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never in Boy Scouts,” Melissa points out, smiling.

Scott shrugs, grinning unrepentantly, and heads towards Stiles’s bed. Dean follows Melissa out into the hall, glancing back over his shoulder at the group of kids and the fond smile on Stiles’s face. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

Melissa looks into the room for a long moment before saying, “He needs to remember there are people he can lean on; people he can talk to.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking away. “He’s definitely a Winchester,” he admits. “Bit of a history of sacrificing ourselves for the people we care about.”

“Winchester? I thought—.”

“I took Claudia’s last name,” Dean answers. His gaze turns back to Stiles. “Winchester isn’t the safest last name to have in the supernatural world. Sammy and I… we’ve made more than a few enemies in our time.”

“What are you hiding from?” Melissa asks. Dean turns back to her to see concern in her dark eyes.

He manages a wan smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you, some time.”

End

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Nicole for cheerleading me through this. Sorry for your tears, darling! (only not ^_~)


End file.
